11. Callan
CALLAN
We found them.
Well, we found her.
Iris Vaughn was added to the list of deceased shortly after her parents arrived in Pirn twenty years ago.
Elliot and Lila Vaughn are Floras, lower-ranked herbologists—their specialty is growing flowers.
If you need a bouquet or floral arrangements for a ceremony, you go to them.
But no matter what you ask for, there is always a tiny splotch of purple petals tucked within the bunch.
An iris for Iris.
For the daughter they’d lost all those years ago.
Lila and Elliot Vaughn burst through the doors of the infirmary.
Elliot halts just before her bed, and Lila rushes to Iris’s side, pushing back her matted black and white hair. That hair is the only reason I knew who she was when she stumbled out of that crumbling building, and I swear I’ve been on autopilot ever since. Getting her here was my top priority.
Menders rush about the room, adjusting Iris’s too-thin body, and I stumble out of the way, my vision blurring from all the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Sparks fire off in my bloodstream, looking for a release, having been pent up for too long.
“We’re here,” Lila says to her daughter, grabbing onto her hand with trembling fingers.
“Oh gods,” Elliot pleads, a short and plump man with skin as white as a ghost. “Is she going to be okay?!” he shouts at a passing nurse, whose wide eyes find mine.
In short, no. Iris will never be okay. I can see every bump and divot of her bones through her skin, which has lost all color. Her cheeks are hollow, her stomach concave, and her closed eyes are sunken. She weighs so little; we were able to run her the entire way back, passing her off between us.
Even if she survives the physical ailments, mentally…
I don’t know if she’ll ever recover.
She managed three steps out of that crumbling building before slumping to the ground. She had the eyes of someone who had witnessed and endured such horrible things that she had lost all vibrancy. All hope.
“She’s in good hands, Mr. Vaugh,” I reply, but my voice comes out strained.
Gemma pushes her way into the room and quickly springs into action, ordering other nurses to fetch various herbs and salves. Only when they find Iris’s pulse does Gemma look over at me. “Were there others with her?” she whispers, and I shake my head.
Gemma exhales a defeated breath, her chest falling with it.
“But now I know where to look,” I tell her. “This is hope, G.”
She stares and stares at Iris. “I know you’ll want to ask her questions when she wakes up. Important questions. But can you ask—”
“I’ll ask her about your parents,” I promise. “That is important.”
She flashes the ghost of a smile, then the doors to the exam room swing open and the Dame ripples in on a wave of silver fabric, her diadem pale in the white lighting. Every nurse pauses to bow, but Delia waves them off, and the Menders quickly resume their organized frenzy.
“Your Grace,” Elliot dips his head as the High Priestess approaches Iris’s bedside. “They found our daughter,” he stammers, tears running down his rounded cheeks.
“So, they have.” Her navy eyes find mine and sharpen. “Let us thank the Matrons for such a miracle.”
I’d taken this mission without telling her.
I knew she wouldn’t approve of us leaving again so soon, but I’m not waiting another six months.
There’s talk about permanently closing the Banyan which would seal us all in here forever, and I can’t let that happen.
All I’ve needed this whole time is proof that our people are still alive, and Iris… .she’s that proof.
When Rogues sacked our city, they slaughtered the nobility first; the only ones they took were the lower-ranked Sol, Menders, Floras, Diviners, Hearths, and Lakelets. They took witches they could have easily killed, but didn’t—another question I’ll have to answer.
Iris has been pushed to the brink of death, and still might not fully evade it, but she was kept alive for a reason. Maybe others were kept alive for that reason, too, and I’m not letting the Dame close the Banyan until I find them.
“A word, Captain,” Delia says sternly, gesturing a robe-clad arm to the far corner of the room. I ignore the splintering pain in my legs as I move to join her. “You disobeyed me,” she hisses.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I’m not. “But Delia, do you know what this means—"
“That I can’t trust you?” she fires back, a harshness in her tone that I’ve not heard since I was a boy. “I thought I could count on you; you’ve always followed my rules, Callan.”
“This isn’t about the rules,” I snap, turning to shield my face from Iris’s parents. “Our people are alive, Delia.”
I can’t believe she’s talking about fucking rules right now.
“One,” she grits out, and my vision bleeds red. “You found one alive, and I’d barely consider her so. She’s practically withered away into nothing.” Delia glances at Iris, smiling faintly at her parents, then whips her head back around to me. “She might be the only one that survived, Callan.”
I exhale, a sea of anger swelling in my gut. “I’m aware of that possibility. But what if she isn’t?” Her eyes sharpen, but she doesn’t respond. “Delia,” I beg, “I have an obligation to—”
“Me,” she hisses. “You have an obligation to your High Priestess, or do I need to remind you of your oath?”
“My oath is to our people,” I bite back, despite my best judgement. But unfortunately, my temper doesn’t give a fuck about my best judgement right now. “My obligation is to protect them.”
Shadows flicker across her navy irises. “And every time you leave, you jeopardize the safety of our people. Why do you think I limit your trips through the Banyan? Each time your coven uses that portal, you risk Pirn being found.”
“We have the Banyan’s judgment, and we cover our tracks every time.”
“Any of your men could be captured and tortured for information—”
“Which we would guard with our lives.” A few nurses turn in our direction when my voice carries a little too loudly. I wave them off, and they continue bustling about the room. “Delia.” I pull her attention back. “My men know what it would mean to be captured.”
Death. It would mean death. No amount of torture would make us talk.
The Dame stares off at the chaos in the room. I track her gaze to where Lila still holds Iris’s hand.
“The last time Elliot and Lila saw their daughter, she was a child,” I remind her, and The Dame’s proud gaze softens— only a fraction. “Whatever horrors Iris witnessed…whatever conditions she grew up in…she. Grew. Up. They kept her alive. The odds of there being others are—”
“Others like your father?”
My jaw snaps shut.
“Is that why you won’t give this up?” she pushes. “Callan, they killed nobility first, you know that. They hung their bodies from the gates. Why would they have kept just your father alive?”
I take a step back. I have to. And when I finally face her again, I’m a barely reigned-in version of myself.
“Why keep anyone alive? That’s what we should be asking ourselves.
There’s some other motive here, don’t you see?
There’s more to this than we realize, Delia.
I know the odds of my father having survived.
I know they are slimmer than the odds of Iris, but she’s here. She’s aliv—”
Gemma begins shouting, urging the Vaughns to back away from the bed as nurses flood the room. Iris is seizing, her body jerking around as foam gathers at the corners of her mouth. Lila cries out for her daughter, fighting against her husband’s hold, tears rolling freely down his face.
“Hold her head!” Gemma instructs a timid nurse whose fingers tremble as she tries to do just that. Once she has her stable, Gemma presses her hands into Iris’s temples, golden Mender magic flaring at her fingertips.
The seizure subsides almost instantly, and Iris is still. Utterly still.
The entire room holds its breath.
Slowly, Iris’s haunted eyes crack open, and as soon as they fall on Lila and Elliot, they well with tears. Her mother breaks her husband’s hold and rushes back to her bedside.
“Hi, bean,” Elliot sobs, and Iris’s face crumples. “We’ve missed you.”
Gemma moves slowly away from the bed, her gaze meeting mine as she crosses the room to where Delia and I stand.
“Your Grace,” she says, bowing her head low to the Dame, then she turns to face me. “If you want to talk to her, you’ll need to do it now.”
“I will, Gemma, but I want her parents to have time—”
My words trail off when Gemma shakes her head, her lips a tight line. “Iris doesn’t have time, Callan.”
All the air leaves my lungs.
“What do you mean?” Delia asks.
Gemma watches me as I weigh the options, running a hand across my dirt-ridden face. “Your Grace,” she starts, “Iris has a disease that was left untreated for too long. Something she picked up or could have been born with?” Gemma’s shoulders fall on her exhale. “She has minutes.”
I remain frozen for a moment, watching all that hope swell in Lila and Elliot’s eyes as they hold the daughter they never thought they’d see again.
Gods, we ran back as fast as we could.
“Thank you, Gemma.” The oxygen I inhale is sharp in my lungs, then I turn to Hunter, shutting off the well of emotion that makes my throat swell, and I slip on the icy mask of the Captain. “Clear the room,” I tell him.
Within seconds, it’s just the Vaughns, me, and the Dame. Her Grace’s stare is pinned on me as I approach Iris’s bedside.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn,” I say calmly, “I need to ask your daughter a few questions.”
“Now?” Elliot asks, his brown eyes bloodshot as he exchanges a concerned glance with his wife.
“Captain, we are forever in debt to you for what you have done for us…for our family. You’ve put us back together, and we are so grateful, but can’t your questions wait a little while longer?
” Elliot looks longingly at his daughter and smiles. “Just until Iris can get a bit better.”
The room falls silent, and all I can hear is the buzz of the overhead lighting.